


Rulebreaker

by autoschediastic



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: M/M, Mild feeder kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-28
Updated: 2011-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-16 00:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autoschediastic/pseuds/autoschediastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's so much Adam wants to do with Tommy, to Tommy. The hardest part is always going to be not doing it all at once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rulebreaker

Sinking back into the plush hotel chair, Adam nestled between the careless sprawl of his thighs, Tommy groans and pushes his plate away. "Fuck, I can't."

The room's heavy with the rich scent of barbecued steak, sweet glazed vegetables, deep red Portuguese wine. Late afternoon sunlight streams in through the windows, red-gold highlights gorgeous on Tommy's face. Adam rubs his cheek against the seam of Tommy's jeans. "You sure?"

"So fucking sure," Tommy puffs, plucking desperately at the button on his jeans.

Brushing Tommy's hands aside, Adam unzips his jeans, peels the fly back to ease the pressure on his tiny, overfull belly. Tommy lets out a grateful moan, settling deeper into the chair. His threadbare Metallica tee stretches tight over the bump of his stomach, bares a sliver of pale skin. Adam bites down hard on an answering moan.

"Fuck," Tommy says, head back on the seat, eyes closed. "I'm not gonna eat for a week."

It's not healthy, letting Tommy stuff himself like this, encouraging it. But Tommy is so small, running on the metabolism of a humming bird, and Adam doesn't indulge often. Barely at all, really. Denial doesn't work for Adam--moderation does. Booze, drugs, sex, it's all good, all okay, as long as he doesn't get carried away. There's so much he wants to do with Tommy, _to_ Tommy. The hardest part is always going to be not doing it all at once.

Rising up to his knees, Adam rests a hand lightly on Tommy's belly. It's firm under his palm, swollen with too much food. Tommy grunts, shifting uncomfortably as he breathes deeper, but he doesn't push Adam away. Adam glances at the crispy green asparagus left on Tommy's plate, the few bites of steak he couldn't finish.

Adam shouldn't. He _shouldn't_.

He picks up a bit of steak in his fingers, presses it to Tommy's lips. "One more."

Groaning again, Tommy turns away. Sauce smears his mouth, sticky, dark. "Too full."

 _No means no_ , Adam thinks sternly. But watching the quick dart of Tommy's tiny pink tongue licking up sauce, shivering when it grazes the side of his thumb, warm and wet, soft, he wants so badly to ask again, to make Tommy take more. He wants Tommy to pluck the meat out of his fingers with small white teeth, chew it slowly and carefully, reluctantly, because he's already so, so full, for Tommy to swallow shakily with Adam's fingers on his throat, fitful breathless squirming as Adam presses gently on his stomach.

Tommy would do it if he asked.

Belatedly, Adam pops the bite of steak into his own mouth. He doesn't notice the angle of Tommy's gaze until Tommy says, a wry slant to his mouth, "You got something you wanna share with the class?"

 _Fuck_. Adam's been half-hard for awhile, an easy, warm buzz of pleasure. He shrugs it off. "You're hot, I'm undersexed."

A rueful, agonised noise bursts through Tommy's deep laugh. "Shit," he gasps, "don't make me laugh. Fuckin' hurts."

Biting the inside of his lip, Adam strokes Tommy's belly, soothing. Tommy makes another sound, soft and weak, helpless, and Adam stomps down the urge to press harder, push in. He fans his fingers out instead, tracing Tommy's ribs, sweeping down to frame skinny hips, up again to pet the swell of Tommy's middle. Maybe he's riding the edge of obsession, but it feels so good, too good to keep from leaning close, brush his mouth over Tommy's taut bellybutton, tongue it in a slow kiss.

"You wanna fuck around, you're gonna have to give me a few first," Tommy says, blunt nails pushing through Adam's hair.

And oh fuck, they shouldn't. Not while Tommy's like this, not even hours later when his stomach's flat again but the memory is still fresh. There are lines Adam stubbornly refuses to cross. No matter how turned on he gets when Tommy's so willing to indulge him, he's not going to let it go that far. The potential for him to want it too often, to do real damage to Tommy's body looms too close.

"Don't even," Tommy says, his hold on Adam's hair fisting tight, "I'm not blind, man," and he rocks up, pushing his belly firmly against Adam's open mouth.

Adam jerks back, scalp stinging where Tommy didn't let go fast enough.

All Tommy does is smile, mischievous and a little wicked as he tugs off his shirt. Sunlight trails across his tattoos as his arms drop slowly down, bright warm all along the sharp edges of his collar bones, over small dark nipples and further to where the thin trail of brown hair vanishes into his open fly. His cock's thick, flirting with the idea of getting hard, a soft rise in his shorts angled toward the crease of his thigh.

Adam swallows hard. "Baby," he starts, but doesn't know where to go from there. Obviously he should've said something to Tommy about this long before now. They've only done it three times, and Adam's been so careful with his excuses, not ragging on Tommy about his size or lack of it, not bringing up anybody's issues. It's never been a lie when he's said he likes spoiling Tommy. He likes seeing Tommy wear the things he's given, likes it when Tommy plays music Adam's introduced him to.

He likes it when Tommy drinks too much, kisses gone sloppy, limbs heavy and uncoordinated when they fuck; when Tommy eats too much, sighing contentedly even while he's grumbling about how full he is, one side of his mouth screwed up in discomfort; when he's taken Adam's dick one too many times lately, his hole hot and puffy and loose, and he lets Adam spread his legs again anyway.

"Come on." Tommy hikes his hips up with a pained noise to shove his jeans down, underwear tugged askew, sexy as fuck with his hair falling across his face, peepshow curtain for the way his mouth's gone slack. "I know you're dying to fuck me, give me a couple fingers at least."

This is why Adam's never told Tommy. His mark is already stamped into Tommy's flesh, not a bruise or a brand, but in who Tommy has become, his soul beautifully pliable in Adam's hands. Permission to do this to him now feels like it makes the rest okay, and Adam's only got so much will power to go around.

Catching Tommy's wrist before he can pull his cock out, Adam splays his hand flat on Tommy's belly, no pressure. He waits for Tommy to flinch, shy back, but Tommy only stares at him, breathing shallowly. Even in the bright sun, Tommy's eyes are dark. Heavy bedroom eyes at quarter to three in the afternoon, anxious and impatient, that same wild look in them the first time he got on his knees for Adam, opened his mouth, when he wrapped his legs around Adam's waist, shaking as Adam pushed inside him and he found out exactly what it was like to get fucked.

Adam quickly presses the heel of one hand against his dick, stifling a moan when Tommy's hips roll. He pushes down on Tommy's belly, not thinking, and the miserable noise Tommy makes arrows viciously sharp into Adam's gut. No matter how hard he tries, he can't stop from doing it again, cock jerking as Tommy twists, strong hands clutching at the chair's arms, knuckles mottled white.

Getting a grip on Tommy's open jeans, Adam hauls his ass straight to the edge of the seat. As soon as his legs are free, clothes kicked haphazardly aside, Tommy hooks one knee over the chair's arm, opening up for the push of Adam's hand between the cheeks of his ass, dry fingertips rubbing at his hole. He sucks in a breath, holds it, gaze on Adam's mouth like he's waiting for kisses, like he wants the sweet slide of Adam's tongue up his ass.

Adam sucks a few fingers wet and gives him those instead.

It's too much, too fast. He rocks back in the chair, teeth clenched, throat stretched long and pale. But he doesn't fight when Adam presses him back down by the hand still on his stomach. Doesn't try to go somewhere Adam doesn't want. A hurt noise leaks out of him, so soft Adam's got to strain to hear it. Tommy never holds back in bed, is never the guy who lies there and takes it, not even when he's fucked out and exhausted and has nothing left to give, and this time's no different, his arms above his head with fingers clawing at the chair's back, writhing between the push of Adam's fingers inside him, Adam's hand on his middle pinning him down.

"Oh, fuck," he hisses, shuddering on the crook of Adam's knuckles holding him up, "fuck, this is fucked up, tell me you've got your dick out."

Adam barely gets his mouth open before Tommy's talking right over him in a landslide rush, "Shit, you don't, fucking do it," between hitched noises caught low in his throat, "gonna fuck me, you want to see me stuffed full so bad, wanna get off on it, you're gonna fucking do me."

The pathetic hold Adam's got on his control snaps like a winter-brittle branch. He yanks at his jeans one-handed, the sound of his zip pulled open turning into a shiver when it hits Tommy, then the hot desperate clench of Tommy's body around his fingers. Slicking up with spit's not going to do the job, but Tommy's already sliding down into his lap, bent backwards over the chair seat with his knees spread wide.

"Shit, Tommy," Adam says, fumbling to angle his dick right because Tommy's not waiting, not giving him a chance to do anything. Tommy's too tight still for it to be easy, and not slick enough for anything more than the shallow little fucks he uses to force Adam deeper. And the _sounds_ that come pouring out of Tommy, all broken edges and torn to shreds, they nail Adam to the floor, his fingers digging savagely into Tommy's side making Tommy squirm down harder.

Tommy skids another inch off the chair. A ragged shout bursts out of him as gravity takes over, slamming him the rest of the way down into Adam's lap, all the way onto Adam's cock. His chest heaves, sweat-slick, shining, and he writhes as Adam's hands run over his swollen belly, gently kneading. Half his face is covered by one hand, mouth slack and open, teeth digging into the flesh of his palm, and he takes the first hard shove of Adam's dick like he hasn't before, completely lax, heavy and pliable, still so tight inside. He moans weakly, totally out of control.

And then he says, "Fuck, it hurts," little more than a whimper, and he's barely hard anymore, and the way he pleads, "don't stop, don't fucking stop," doesn't make any sense rattling around in Adam's skull. But Adam's brain isn't calling the shots anymore, his dick is, and it makes him do exactly what Tommy tells him to, this time, every time. He rises up on his knees, driven as close to insane as he's ever been by the filthy, obscene sound of his body slamming into Tommy's, by helpless, hurt noises spilling free. He comes hard and sudden, eyes flying wide for a split-second as he drives deep and the chair skids backwards to dump Tommy halfway to the floor, held up by his death grip on the table and Adam's hands at his waist. Everything stops, even his heart, and he's sure, so very fucking sure, that's what Tommy's holding on to so tightly, wringing it bloodless and aching.

Oxygen floods back into Adam's chest. Tommy's grip on the table fails and he falls the last few inches to the carpet with a dull thud. He lies there, every other struggling breath he takes a moan, eyes flickering behind closed lids like he wants to open them but just can't.

"I'm okay," is the first thing Tommy manages. He repeats it again, and again, like he's trying to convince himself, or like he can't stop, like his brain's latched onto that one concept and it's all he's got left. His hands flutter at his sides, twitching vainly for a few tries until he gets one up to run restlessly over his stomach, along the crook of his thigh, over his cock and up again, over and over, and Adam honestly can't tell if he's shell-shocked or basking.

When Tommy's eyes finally open, they're dark, narrow slits, pupils blown wide open and glittering midnight black in the sun. He shudders as Adam pulls slowly free, a fresh flood of endorphins tugging his mouth up into a crazy, beautiful smile.

The tension holding Adam's shoulders tight drains away. "You're okay."

"Told you," Tommy says, hazy, far-away sounding. "Say thanks by putting me to bed. Can't move."

"In a minute," Adam says, hovering carefully on hands and knees above him, blocking out the sun.

"'Kay," and he tilts his mouth up for Adam to take, trying to kiss back even though he's still hasn't come down, probably won't for a long while yet. Adam's never seen him like this before, off-kilter and passive, quiet. It's not the same sort of quiet he is in crowds, the kind where he's paying attention, watching everyone. It's easy, satisfied. A confident sort of calm.

"You're amazing," comes tumbling out of Adam's mouth, falling into Tommy's heavy with a meaning he didn't hear when the words were building inside his head.

Tommy murmurs, "You bet," and stretches out lazy and languid beneath him, revelling in Adam's shadow like he hadn't in the sun.


End file.
